“They say as how a hunderd acres of potatoes ull feed four hunderd people fur a year,” he said to Tom—“and yit thur’s always summat unaccountable mean about a spud.”
Tom laughed. “You’ve done valiant, Harry.” Now that his brother’s adventure had justified itself, he had abandoned a good deal of his croaking attitude. Besides, if things really were getting scarce at home ... he wouldn’t like to think of Thyrza and the baby....
“I’ve done my best,” said Harry moodily, “but it’s over now. Reckon I’ll be called up in two months’ time.”
“Who’d have thought it!—you eighteen!—and the liddle skinny limb of wickedness you wur when I went away. I’d never have believed it, if you’d toald me that in two year you’d have maade more of Worge than I in five.”
“Father wants me to appeal; but it ud never do, I reckon. You cudn’t git off, so I’m not lik to.”
“And it wouldn’t be praaper, nuther,” said Tom, rather huffily. “You wud a brother in the Sussex! Farming’s all very well, Harry, but soldiering’s better. I didn’t think it myself at one time, but now I know different. A farm’s hemmed liddle use if Kayser Bill gits his perishing plaace in the sun. Besides, the praaper job fur a praaper Sussex chap is along of other Sussex chaps, fighting fur their farms. That’s whur I’d lik my old brother to be, and whur he’d like to be himself, I reckon.”
“I shudn’t,” said Harry, “any more than you did at fust.”
“I aun’t maaking out as I enjoy it—so you needn’t jump at me lik that. The chap who tells you he enjoys it out thur, reckon he taakes you fur a middling thick ’un, or he’s middling thick himself. But wot I say is, that it’s the praaper plaace fur a Sussex chap to be. Ask me wot I enjoy, and I’ll tell you”—and Tom jerked his pipe-stem over the ribbed hump of the field towards the cottages of Sunday Street, stewing like apples in the sunshine. “My fancy’s a liddle hoame of my own, and a wife and child in it, and my own bit of ground outside the door; and when we’ve wound up the watch on the Rhine, reckon I’ll be justabout glad to taake my coat off and sit in the sun and see my liddle ’un playing raound—and be shut of all that tedious hell wot’s over thur, Harry, acrost Horse Eye and the Channel, if folks at home only knew it—which seemingly they doan’t ... and I’m middling glad they doan’t, surelye.”
Harry was impressed, and a little ashamed.